Lunna Svetlina
by vi et animo
Summary: Fenrir believes he owns her; she stays only out of necessity. What if that isn't necessarily true? What will she do when she once again meets her ex-fiance, with the curse of lycanthropy weighing her down? M for sexual themes and language. AU fluff.
1. It All Comes Crashing Down

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything recognizable from the Harry Potter world, just my own sick sense of humor.

**Chapter 1: It All Comes Crashing Down**

_The day was bright, the sun shining in cheerily. Hermione Jane Granger rolled over groggily, squinting against the shaft of light that had obnoxiously decided to focus on her face. A pounding head uncoiled in her mind, keeping beat with her heart, and she groaned. Sitting up, holding a hand to her temple, she closed her eyes to try and make it darker again. Bloody hell, her skull felt as if it was about to fall apart! Beside her, she could hear soft snoring. A small, shy smile lifted up the corner of her darkened lips, and she rolled over to prod the lump of a man awake. Viktor mumbled something, batting her away. Blushing, Hermioned smiled and cuddled up with him again, closing her eyes. With the sun blocked out by his massive shoulders, she had nothing to worry about... until he started to roll over, and she had to evade being squished. Sighing, she poked the Bulgarian right between the ribs. He grumbled something definitely not in English, and so she tickled him instead. This made Viktor squirm, true, but he just grunted and kept his eyes closed. "Oh, you stupid Durmstrang! Get up!"_

_A second later, she was suddenly being pinned by a very heavy hunk of man, who was looking at her intensely, albeit blearily. With warm flesh poking against her thigh, she blushed, but smiled again anyways. If she was going to go to hell, she might as well do it thoroughly. "Gud mohrnink," he said, his accent especially pronounced so early. Hermione giggled and was very receptive to his idea of a 'good morning', as they made love for the second time. It didn't matter that she was merely fourteen, he being seventeen. What was age in the grand scheme of things, anyway? That was her reasoning, as she felt solely with her heart, and body. She could hardly say no to such wonderful feelings.  
_

Gasping, Hermione's eyes fluttered open in a cold sweat. Tears gathered at the edge of her eyes, before she ground the heel of her palm into them. There, there, no more crying, sweetie. Taking deep breaths, she looked over at the electric alarm clock beside her. It was three oh three in the morning. Bloody hell. Shaking her head, she laid back in bed and started to ponder her life. For the past five months, she had been in this dingy house, alone, not knowing whom she belonged to. After all, she did belong to someone. It wasn't her that bought the groceries, nor was it her that left the tapes telling her what she needed to do. Nor would she break her own wand. Really! That was just a slap in the face, on her part, for someone to even try to do that to her.

Growling to herself, now that she was back to normal, she did her daily routine of attempting to open the windows to the house, as well as the doors. Both basement, front, and back doors were locked. The windows were magicked, as she couldn't even touch them; presumably it was to stop her from busting the glass out with a heavy object. Then she set about making breakfast. The shivery feeling of being watched pervaded her everywhere she went, but what was she to do? Just waste away to nothing? No, each day she thought of new plans, carried thme out, and watched them fail. Ignoring her melancholy, she got out all the dry ingredients to make a bowl of cereal. Then she went to get the milk. There. In the fridge. It didn't belong there... Her heart skipped a beat as she suddenly remembered what day it was. It was her birthday. A small cupcake with a candle in it in the shape of an '18'.

Then she put it down, having noticed the small white card tucked into the corner of the pantry. With shaky hands, she took it gently, opened it, and read it. With her back to the cupboards, she slid down, knees to her chest. It was a picture of she and Viktor, together, holding hands. Smiles and laughter were being reenacted in the wizarding trick of moving photos. "Vik...tor..." she whispered brokenly, missing him. They had been inseparable since the Yule Ball, despite the strain of it being long distance. As the brightest witch of her age, well... she'd developed plenty of tricks for seeing him. This was not one of them. This was not a trick she wanted. Flipping the picture over, she read the looping handwriting that she was now accustomed to.

_Happy birthday, my pet. My present is your Viktor. I do sincerely hope you like it. I put much effort into procuring this present, and would be very disappointed if it didn't make you happy._

Happy? He expected her... to be happy? Grinding her teeth together, she stood up, swiping everything off the counter. The bowl shattered into shards of ceramic, the cereal spilled all over the floor with a pattering like rain, and the milk spilled with the 'glug, glug, glug' of the liquid draining from the plastic container. Placing the image of she and Viktor in the middle of the counter, she looked around frantically. Was he here? Or was it just this picture of him? Glaring, she yelled, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" Obviously, someone was getting a sick kick out of having her kept there. Until she looked at Viktor again, and felt despair replace her anger. "What do you want... why me?" she whispered.

She hardly expected an answer, but nonetheless, it came. From the shadows, it came, from outside the blocked window, with the curtains behind the spell that forbade her to touch it. "You are the strongest, my pet. Just eliminating the opposition!" The voice sounded positively cheery... and familiar. Before she knew why, she had the picture gripped in her hands nad was tearing up the steps, trying to reach her room, to lock the door behind her. It was little use, but it was a great deal of comfort. The door burst open behind her, and there were heavy footfalls as the man chased her. Why even need to chase, since he had magic when she didn't?

The sharp tip of a wand pressed to her throat as she stumbled over her threshhold, falling to her knees, eyes screwed shut. She had thought the war was over. Thought everyone was gone. She was wrong. Looking up, tears in her eyes, she saw the monstrous face. Before she even knew what hit her, he was on top of her, clawing at her clothing. She was screaming, tearing at him in turn, and unable to do much when he forcefully shoved his length inside of her. She cried out in pain, her stomach turning with her disgust and fear. It was useless to fight, but she sure did try. Big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she resigned herself to the thick, fetid air being expelled onto her neck, and the dirty body thrusting above her.

"Oh, yes... little mudblood likes it, the little whore. Sing for me, my pet." Sharp nails scraped down her breast, nicking a nipple, and sing she did. That damn well hurt! A high scream of surprise and pain, and then the thrashing. It seemed like he enjoyed this more than anything and, before she knew it, he was rolling off of her, sated, and she could crawl away from him, sitting in the corner of the room. It did no good. He was still able to stand up, obscenely flaccid and ruddy in the face, and walk over and pull her up, tossing her back onto the bed. Then he ran over, excitedly, to throw the curtains open. The night was still cloudy, and near morning. Dawn was but ten minutes away, and yet... ah, yes, the clouds broke, his eyes connected with the luminous disk, and a shrill noise came from the monster's throat. Hermione screamed, closing her eyes. He couldn't possibly mean to do this to her. Yet, oh, yes, he did.

Before his mouth was too distorted to refrain from speaking, he growled out, "You're mine, now, pet. Your beautiful Krum won't want you now." Then he was on all fours, writhing, sprouting hair... The most dangerous werewolf himself had chosen her to start rebuilding his pack. Panting for breath out of her fear, she stared at the animal before her. They stood, facing each other. Then at the same second they started to move, Hermione for the door, and Fenrir for Hermione. She screamed, his bit down, and blood rained. She managed to drag them both to the stairs, before they tumbled down. Fumbling around, Hermione found a heavy vase, and smashed it over Fenrir's head. He whimpered, and she ran for the door, left open after he rushed in.

Knowing her chances were slim, she took them anyway. They had to be better than if she stayed in the house with him! As she emerged into the full moon, she groaned, touching the wound on her shoulder. It was deep, and she was bleeding profusely, but she wouldn't die of blood loss. It was shallow nad superficial, for all its ugly looks and pain. Fenrir was stumbling out, looking at her with murder in his eyes. She just ran, long and hard, away from him. Not knowing where she was, not caring, she just ran. Howling behind her made her realize he hadn't moved away from the house. She would need to go back to him, eventually. Who was left to help her with this curse? Who was left to tolerate it?

* * *

**A/N: **Yikes! Hope it's not too horrible. Let me know what you all think. This will most likely not exceed five chapters, unless you all give me some great feedback and some ideas on what is to come in her life.


	2. The Waiting Makes Me Curious

**Disclaimer:** I wish I owned Sexy Krum or even Fenrir's hairy ass, but alas, I do not.

**Chapter 2: The Waiting Makes Me Curious  
**

_Viktor's mouth was upon mine, ravishing, his scalding tongue tasting me and mine doing the same for him. He was pure man, me pure woman. We writhed, snaked, and ground ourselves together until we were one being. It was difficult to tell where one of us started, and the other stopped. We had done the impossible, melded..._

Hermione woke with startled heart racing, wishing for home badly. She'd been having these dreams a lot, lately... Yet she couldn't let them effect her. Because then Fenrir would know, and he would use it against her. Taking deep breaths, she stood up, and brushed off her dirty bum. With clothing ripped and tattered, she felt naked; it hid only the bare essentials, and in some spots the raggedy fabric didn't even do that much. Loking around the rest of the equally-ragged encampment, she gave smiles to the rest of the 'new recruits', as the monster called them. Many were just poor muggles, brought in to spread the virus and nothing more. Others, like her, were to get to important people. Abduct, bite, steal from society.

The only good thing about going back to Fenrir was having her wand again, in working order and repaired wonderfully. She heard stories from the outsiders about how the famous trio was broken up, how the remaining two grieved, even after the full year that had passed. Today, everyone was antsy, and running a bit of a temperature. The full moon was that night, and the effects were felt. The only one, the oldest next to Fenrir, who didn't show the sickness was Hermione. Wolfsbane did wonders to the body when one was a werewolf. A wry smile lit upon her lips. She remembered Professor Lupin saying something similar during her days as his student.

Then the familiar doubts hit her. Why didn't she just go back? Remus obviously learned how to deal with it, and so could she. Then again, it often drove him close to the brink of madness, and he was hardly a part of functioning society. Rubbing her shoulder, she pondered. Then the vile hands were at her waist, tugging her closer, and his disgusting mouth was on hers. She neither recoiled nor responded, but stood limply. It infuriated him, yes. It turned him on, yes. But it kept her under his radar. Whilst she was the only female he approached in such a manner, she recognized that the more she acted as if he didn't own her, didn't possess her, the worse things he did to imprint on her that he did, in fact, own and possess her.

They briefly rolled around on the ground, in front of everyone. It soon turned into a violent display; she always got aggressive, and during the full moon days she actually responded with her increased libido. This was one of those times; she actually tore a chunk of his skin out of his neck this time, before he left many bruises and scrapes upon her belly and hips with his over-sized paws. When all was said and done, she let out a feral snarl that frightened even her. She was more wolf than woman, these days, far fallen from her grace as the brightest witch. Shuddering, she reclaimed her scraps of clothing, shimmied into them best she could, and strode through the forest with rage overcoming the Wolfsbane potion inside of her.

As she walked, she noticed signs of habitation. It was close to sunset, and she'd been walking since dawn. Habitation meant people, and sunset meant the moon. Full moon. People... full moon... werewolves... They didn't get along. Breath hitching, she walked faster. Perhaps if she could find a hotel, or something... They'd doubtless complain of the noise, but it would keep her confined, unable to turn a doorknob with her wolf paws, or snap necks and slurp flesh up as a feral beast. Soon, she was running, and... ran right into the broad chest of a man in uniform. Robes, to be exact. "Excuse me, I'm so sorry--" she started, before the man's hoarse shout grabbed her attention.

Fidgetting, she pawed at her hair. Yes, it was a mess, but it could hardly be so bad as to stare at her like that. Did she suddenly sprout six tails or something? Jesus. "Look, sir, I said..." she stared, then trailed off as she realized that underneath the bushy beard was a face she knew. Fuck. This couldn't go any worse. Like a deer in the headlights, her body locked stiffly into place. What was she supposed to do? Like she did with everything, now, she ran. Just... turned on her heel and ran. She was vaguely aware of the man suddenly thumping after her, long legs catching up. Desperation kept her ahead of him, and just that. Fenrir woldn't think to look for her until the next day, but if he came out here, found this scent... god only knew what would happen.

So she stopped running, spun around and snarled at him. "Get away from me! You don't know what he'll do to you!" With wide eyes, he reached out to grab her arm before she could flee again. "I don't care, Hermy-Own-Ninny." Then he seemed frustrated at still being unable to say her name. It broke her heart all over again. Looking him up and down, she noticed the robes she had seen fleetingly were that of a Durmstrang professor's. So she whispered softly, "Go. I mean it. I will... God help me, it's a horrible decision, but I will come back to speak with you. Okay? Listen to me, Viktor. Don't you dare follow me, or I'll rip your head off myself." On impulse, she lurched forward and clumsily pressed her mouth to his, before groaning.

She smelled horrible, and still had _Fenrir_ all over her. "Go!" With a soft snarl of pain as the first wave of the transformation took over her, she looked away. The first to go were the eyes; her soft honey-brown would no doubt be a luminous yellow now. Finally understanding, Viktor whispered, "I vill see you again, Herm...y-ninny." A groan of not being able to say it right, and having to let her go again, was the last thing she heard as she sprinted towards the direction of the yowls and yips of those farther in their transformation than her. Five more minutes, and she gave out, halfway back to camp. For the first time in her life, she was relieved to see that hulking mass, the gray hair, and the grizzled face. Strong arms lifted her twitching body, and took her the rest of the way to the camp, set her down, even as he himself was starting to break out of his human shell. He was the most used to this, able to hold off his transformation for quite a while.

As she let her body take over her, splitting into a different shape, she was free. The pain was gone, replaced by an animalistic urge inside of her, put in place by seeing her Bulgarian ex-fiance. It was a digusting thought to her human side, but it was there nonetheless. So she lunged for the wolf-Fenrir, tore at his shoulder with his teeth, tail flagging to show her need for venting, teeth bared. Blood filled her mouth, the first step to sating her, while they wrestled and found themselves really getting into it. Hermione would be hurting in the morning, and no doubt so would Fenrir, despite his experience and bulk. The entire night they were preeocupied with their battle for dominance and bloodlust, calling back the others with loud howls. The alpha pair, they glared at any stragglers, blows and nips being handed out like free candy.

Finally, the time came for them all to exhaustedly shed their canine form, the sun peeking over the treetops. Hermione ended up snuggling next to a newer member, a young boy around the age of eleven, and Fenrir, with other limbs added to the mesh here or there. As a pile, as a pack, they all settled down to sleep off the effects. It was a routine, and one well-designed, for the stress to their bodies had them shivering for heat. Before she drifted off completely, Fenrir did something she should have expected much earlier. "You are mine, Hermione. I can smell that Krum bastard on you, and you are MINE." Fenrir tensed, then howled loudly, disturbing everyone. Unaware of her slip-up, Hermione scowled, slapped his hairy chest and snuggled up again for sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** sneak peak into the pack lifestyle, and a bit of a glimpse at what's to come between the three of them. Hmm. What do you think will happen? Review, review, review!


	3. How Did We Get So Mean?

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, still don't own any of J.K. Rowling's goodies.

**Chapter 3: How Did We Get So Mean?  
**

Viktor, Viktor, Viktor. She tried to slow her heartbeat at the thought of his name. She wanted him so badly--but could she stand leaving this life? It was so free, so natural, in her state. Of course, she had already taken out her anger on Fenrir for his tricking her into being in Russia. That had just been unacceptable, as was the fact that they were camped near the town that held Durmstrang Academy. Growling low in her throat at that thought, once again riled up despite herself, Hermione rolled away from him angrily and climbed haphazardly over the pile of bodies still out cold from the night before. She felt like going to a town, being civilized... and she had a promise to keep while doing so. So Hermione scrounged up a semi-clean skirt with a pretty lavender floral print, and a black shirt. Two different black flats were also added to the mix.

It didn't quite match, but it would have to do. She finger-combed her hair, though the bushy mess was still sticking out everywhere. Just as she was going to leave, she saw _him_ approach her, his face blank in what she could only assume was a knowing rage. "You know I must, Fenrir," was all she said. The look in his eyes, though his face was still stone cold, made her pause. He... looked uncertain, hurt almost. His hold was suffering, not as strong. So she impulsively threw herself at him for a quick hug, despite the resulting stench that clung to the fabric of her clothes. They were, for better and worse, essentially mates for life. There might be other components, other people, but theirs was the bond of the wolf. It turned Hermione's mind bitter at times, and at others she rejoiced; he'd protect her, provide for her, and hunt with her. Her heart would soar when she was with him, or sink when he wanted intimacy she couldn't provide.

Then she nodded at him and murmured, "Last night was hard. For most of them, it was the first time. I will... bring some entertainment back. It's not entirely a sentimental visit, now that I'm even bloody aware there's a town nearby." Fenrir stiffened visibly, and she triumphantly left him with that. He hadn't known she'd gotten all the way to the village; just known that she'd somehow found herself with Viktor. Of all people, Viktor... a happy sigh slipped through her lips as she used her wand to take her faster. Then she was suddenly wobbling on a log she hadn't remembered was there, hopping down gracefully and looking around her in a confused manner.

Oh, yes, this was the spot she'd come across Viktor. Smoothing out her skirt, she cleared her throat, and started forth to the apparently-Russian village. Another translating spell was needed for this, and she was quick to learn that this was a Wizarding community; lucky her. It must be because Durmstrang was so close. Many people avoided her, noticing her dirty state, and equally wary of the slashes from claws that were located in various places, both fresh, healing, and long scarred over on her bared skin. Shivering from their glances, she braved to go into a store, whose sign she didn't even glance at. The first person she saw, she blurted out her destination. "Durmstrang?" A wary glance and a strong, tanned arm pointed to a castle much less imposing than Hogwarts, and much smaller as well.

Taking a deep breath, she started for the slim trail that lead up to the school; it was situated on the edge of a cliff overlooking either a bay or a sea; she wasn't sure, since she didn't know exactly where on the map this was. Hermione eventually made it up to the entrance of the school and was immediately confronted with a large chest, and fur-lined robes. It was only at this moment that she realized she was rather cold up this high in the atmosphere. Roughly, hands grasped her, and she flinched back, snarling. They let go immediately. Confused and reeling, she stared into the face hidden by the hood, and then shuddered. "Viktor Krum. I am here to see Viktor Krum," she managed to get out.

Nodding stiffly, the man grabbed her again, this time more gently, and steered her into the school. Immediately she was embraced by warm air, and she could stand up straight, not afraid to tumble off the steep slopes. Glancing around, she noticed how ornate it was; the exterior was a light color, having been built from what she assumed were the very rocks of the creamy slope it rested on. "Vou vill vait here, yahs?" Nodding to show her cooperation, she just stood with wide eyes, looking around. Who ever thought she would end up here, where her fiance... no, her _ex_ fiance was now teaching? He had been out of school for years, by this point.

A soft, warm hand touched her shoulder and she jumped, startled, having been staring at a strange symbol carved into the wall; it was one familiar and dangerous. Whipping around, she saw him. Viktor, in the flesh. She hadn't been dreaming the other night, like she had feared she was. Swallowing hard, she tried to think of something to say. He seemed to be doing the same. They both opened their mouths at the same time, and Hermione blushed. Viktor just gave up on words and reached forward, pulling her into an embrace before making a choking noise above her. Frowning, she pushed him away, and gave him a confused expression. With what looked to be a sheepishness, he murmured, "Vou shmell."

This made her giggle ever so slightly, before agreeing with a hearty nod. "Yes. Well. That's what comes from my sort of lifestyle," she whispered. This made him look contemplative, and before he could even get any ideas into that thick skull of his, she snapped, "I'm staying there, Viktor. I must. Not just for myself, anymore, but to help the others. I am a mother to them, a sister, a daughter. I am the heart of that pack. Take me away and you will be destroying them." Viktor blinked, surprised by her outburst. This made her shrink back in shame. "I-I'm sorry... I just... didn't want you tos tart thinking that I'd be able to leave."

There was a full minute of painful silence, before the Bulgarian turned on his heel and walked away with a muttered, "At least I got to shay varevell thish time." A single tear rolled down Hermione's cheek before she turned away from him, as well, and ran out of the castle. Nearly forgetting the baubles she was going to get for the rest of the pack, she had to quickly slow herself down and go back into the store she'd gotten directions in. Various things were stacked in her arms before she took them up and paid for them with the little bit of money Fenrir had gifted her with over the past nine months. Candy, some music, and real 'just add water' food instead of the raw meats they always craved, and always had to endure.

When she returned, eyes red and puffy from unshed tears, she was immediately comforted by the first three werewolves to see her approach. Naturally, when they saw her presents, they were distracted and left her blessedly alone, where she ripped off the offending clothing and sat with her back to a rough tree. Let it scratch her, poke her, hurt her. She only deserved it, now didn't she? Up beside her came the small boy who had been sleeping on the side not taken over by Fenrir. "Hello, Thomas," she whispered, recognizing his scent. He gave her a wavering smile and said in his childish innocence, "Please cheer up, mum! Fenrir, sir, he can't figure out the music! Would you please help us?" This was enough to inspire even Hermione to laugh, and she nodded.

"He _would_ have troubles with such nonsense. It's a muggle contraption, I'm afraid." Shaking her head, she walked around, stark naked as was half of the rest of the pack that didn't still cling to the practice. They only got ripped and dirtied for no good reason. With an amused look, she walked up to the beast that was Fenrir and very gently pried his hands from the small plastic contraption, and the shiny disk that had to be placed in it. "Look, like this." Then she snapped the disk in, matching the empty circle in the center with a protruding piece of the CD-player. Then she snapped down the lid and pressed a little trianglular play-button. Music was soon blaring, and she smiled gently. The wards would keep them safe. It's what always kept them safe.

Fenrir was still sulking, his face darkened with embarrassment and anger. "I'm muggle-born, you must remember. If I were any of you, I would not be able to know how, either. Relax. You learn something new every day, hmm?" She rubbed his massive shoulders gently, before she felt him relax just as she'd begged him to do. If she couldn't find happiness with the one she loved, then she might as well find peace with the one she did have. He loved her, in his own sick way, and she cared for him. That wasn't to say that she didn't hate him equally, but she did have her moments. Everyone did. So she sat down next to him, her head on his shoulder, silently begging for comfort. Despite herself, she was surprised still when she was pulled into his lap, and allowed to cry her sorrows out on his collarbone.

Perhaps there was still some hope for them yet.

* * *

**A/N:** I bet you didn't expect that. It's a very fast-paced story, as it will be short, if you can't tell. Hopefully you all don't hate me? Dx


	4. AN

A/N: Didn't expect such a weak ending, did you? Well, there it is. My small piece of fluff as you see Hermione live with Fenrir in a sort of surreal way, really losing her humanity while at the same time keeping a piece of it alive in Viktor's memory. I bet you all thought more would happen. Sorry, folks. As said before; small piece of fluff. It may have had a chance to take on more, but I have neither the time nor inclination to seriously hold up a story. I'm sorry, folks. Hope you liked what you saw.


End file.
